


on a wednesday, in a cafe

by wreckedboyfriends



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ooc Nick, also one scene mentions past physical abuse but not in detail, but it's in the past and not larry, nick really got the short end of the stick here im sorry nick, one ziam scene, past gryles, there's one sad excuse for a smut scene but its very brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:36:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckedboyfriends/pseuds/wreckedboyfriends
Summary: “What can I get for you today?” he asked without looking up, arranging the last of the pastries.“Have any recommendations? Never been here before, actually.” Harry hit his head on the top of the case in his haste to look at the source of the voice. It was a really beautiful voice, small and high and just lovely, if a voice could be lovely. Harry thought so. “Alright, mate?” the man asked when Harry finally composed himself, rubbing the top of his head as he took his place at the register.Harry opened his eyes, and fuck. If Harry had thought his voice was lovely, the man himself was on a whole other level. “Alright, mate?” He repeated and shit. Harry had been openly staring for quite awhile, hadn’t he?“Yeah,” Harry replied, and it came out sounding like a semi trailer running over gravel. He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he repeated. “Um, the cherry danish is quite good, I think. ’S my favorite.”The man smiled. “One cherry danish it is, then.”OR Harry’s spent the last year with six locks on his door, a pair of too-flamboyant boots buried in the back of his closet, and insecurity issues the size of a mammoth. Louis changes some of that, but Harry changes the most.





	on a wednesday, in a cafe

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY VERY BEST FRIEND, MEGAN!!! 20 years ago, when we were four and five years old, we met in a woods that probably wasn't fit for a children's daycare given the fact that a serial killer lived behind it, but hey! what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, i suppose. Thank you for the motivation to finish this. Tell her happy birthday on her tumblr at [meganbmaggie](http://meganbmaggie.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> Special thanks to Lauren (hrrytomlinson both on [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrrytomlinson) and on [tumblr](http://hrrytomlinson.tumblr.com)) for the beautiful fic rec graphic on the rebloggable post for this fic and Gray ([heterophobiclarry](http://heterophobiclarry.tumblr.com) on tumblr and [mediocregrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocregrace) on here) for being an incredible patient, persistent beta reader for me! Go follow them and show them some love! They deserve it!
> 
> Also Nick is OCC. He really got a bad rep here. Sorry Nick but someone had to be the bad guy. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> \- mentions of past emotional abuse, detailed.  
> \- one mention of past physical abuse, not detailed, mentioned in passing.

Harry stroked Fish's tail as he walked by, a travel mug of tea in his other hand and a messenger bag one wash away from death over his shoulder. The orange tabby meowed impatiently and oh yeah, Harry hadn't filled her food bowl yet. One glance at the clock in the kitchen told him if he didn't leave soon, he'd be late to the bakery. Meredith probably wouldn't mind, but Harry would. He filled Fish's bowl quickly, petting him once more in lieu of a goodbye before making his way to the door. 

Five locks lined the door of his flat, a bit of a hassle, but a necessity in making Harry feel safe. He unlocked each of them, double checking the pocket of his bag for his keys before slipping through the door. He checked the hallway for any other tenants before slipping his key out and locking both the knob and the padlock. 

He was twenty and living in London, alone for the first time. He'd lived with his Mum until he was eighteen, opting to stay close for uni. Well, opting made it sound like he had a choice. Nick had insisted he stayed close for uni. Shortly after, he moved in with Nick and slowly but surely lost most of his contact with his family and friends. Nick preferred having Harry all to himself, not out gallivanting with friends or gossiping about him with his family. Harry didn't speak about his relationship with Nick to anybody, but Nick didn't believe him when he said that. Nick didn't believe much of what Harry said, so Harry eventually stopped saying things.

The night things got worse, Harry got himself away. He called his mum in tears, begging her to come get him. She promised she was on her way and he packed his bags, throwing as many clothes as his suitcase could fit, shoving his toiletries, wallet, phone charger and laptop into his duffel. When a knock sounded on the front door of his and Nick's flat, Harry's breath caught. He'd locked the door as soon as Nick left, a lost cause considering Nick owned keys to the place. “It's Mummy, Harry.” Harry let out a sigh of relief and fled to the door, throwing it open and pulling his mother into a hug. He sobbed on her shoulder, clinging to her tightly as she rubbed his back. “We've gotta go, Harry,” she warned a few moments later and Harry pulled away from her hesitantly, nodding and reaching for his bags. 

His mother never asked Harry to tell her all the details. She never pried, just helped him get a flat in London on extremely short notice. Barbara, from the bakery back home helped him get a job at her sister's bakery and that was that. He dropped out of uni for the time being, deciding to reapply when he could. He hadn't seen Nick since. 

The walk to the bakery was only a few blocks, but Harry insisted on listening to music everywhere he went. It helped him focus on something other than looking over his shoulder with every step. Still, he only listened with one headphone in, afraid of any hindrance wearing both might cause to his ability to notice his surroundings. He pressed shuffle and smiled at the first song that came on. It had always been one of his favorites; subsequently, it had always been a song Nick couldn’t stand. Harry hummed along to the harmony anyway, trying and nearly failing a few times not to sing out loud. A twenty year old man listening to songs by Little Mix rarely caused favorable reactions. 

The bell rang above his head as he stepped through the doors of the bakery, taking his headphones from his phone and shoving them haphazardly into his pocket. They'd be knotted later. “Harry?” Meredith called from the back. 

“'S me!” Harry called, same as every morning. He rounded the counter, dropping his messenger bag in a small space under it and taking his tea with him on his journey to find Meredith. Harry had no idea how old the woman was, but he figured she was probably nearly eighty at least. Still, she got up early every morning and walked down the stairs from her flat located above the bakery and started baking the muffins and loaves of bread and cookies and pastries. By the time Harry arrived at seven, the majority of the work was done. Harry had offered to come earlier, but Meredith hated the idea of Harry walking to work alone in the dark nearly as much as Harry did. 

“Have yeh had breakfast yet lad?” Meredith asked. 

Harry shrugged. “Some tea.” She cut him a look that told him he'd better grab the closest pastry and shove it in his mouth as quickly as he could, or else. Harry wondered if mothers taught their daughters that look when they became mothers themselves, or if it was just some sort of instinct women got when they reached a certain age. Anne did the same thing every time Harry visited her. He grabbed his apron off the peg on the wall to his right, putting it over his head and tying the tie behind him haphazardly. 

“Pezza come in today?” Harry asked and Meredith smiled. She seemed to think Harry had a crush on his coworker, and Harry let her. Encouraged it, really, even though she couldn't be farther from the truth. It gave Harry comfort. He wasn't lying, per se, she'd never outright asked him if he liked Perrie like that, nor what his sexuality was. If she ever did, he'd be honest. But until then. 

“No, just the two of us today. It's Monday, it'll be a slow day.” Harry nodded and looked at the clock. They didn't open for another half hour. 

“Need any help with anything?” 

“Could you go wipe off the tables outside real quick, lad? I think it rained last night.” Did it? Harry hadn't noticed. 

“Course,” he said and grabbed a nearby rag, heading back out the front door. 

Meredith had been right. Today was slow. There was a small rush around breakfast time, but nothing Harry couldn't handle by himself. Meredith stayed in the back, baking, while Harry manned the cash register and cleaned up after customers. He was refilling the pastries when he heard the tinkle of the bell above the door. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the customer approach the register. “What can I get for you today?” he asked without looking up, arranging the last of the pastries. 

“Have any recommendations? Never been here before, actually.” Harry hit his head on the top of the case in his haste to look at the source of the voice. It was a really beautiful voice, small and high and just lovely, if a voice could be lovely. Harry thought so. “Alright, mate?” the man asked when Harry finally composed himself, rubbing the top of his head as he took his place at the register. 

Harry opened his eyes, and _fuck_. If Harry had thought his voice was lovely, the man himself was on a whole other level. He was tiny, really, smaller than Harry anyway. But then again, Harry was quite long and gangly. He had deep blue eyes and a bit of a wide nose, caramel coloured hair lying across his forehead messily, as if he hadn't bothered much with it after showering. He had a small waist and curves and jeans that clung to his thighs and if Harry wasn't careful, he was going to pop a fucking boner in front of Meredith of all people. 

“Alright, mate?” The man repeated and _shit_. Harry had been openly staring for quite awhile, hadn't he? 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, and it came out sounding like a semi trailer running over gravel. He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he repeated. “Um, the cherry danish is quite good, I think. 'S my favorite.” 

The man smiled. “One cherry danish it is, then.” Harry rung him up and stepped away from the register, grabbing a piece of parchment paper and reaching back into the case – carefully, this time – for the danish. He put it in one of the paper bags sitting on the counter and folded the top over. 

“Would you like any coffee or tea to go with this?” he asked, handing the bag over. 

“Tea, please. Do you happen to have Yorkshire?” They didn't, regretfully. Harry told him as much and Louis sighed. Harry would be talking to Meredith later about their tea options. 

“Whatever you have's fine, then.” 

“May I have your name for your receipt?” Harry blurts out, and it isn't their policy, even when they're busy, but Harry wants to pat himself on the back for the idea. The man quirks an eyebrow, taking obvious note of the fact there are no other customers in the bakery besides himself. 

“Louis,” he answers anyway. Harry tells him his total and prints his receipt, grabbing a nearby marker to write his name down. He makes Louis' tea slowly, really hoping to prolong the boy's attendance. There's only so much time you can take with tea, however, and whenever it becomes insane not to hand the beverage over, he finally does so, regretfully. 

Louis thanks him, fingers lingering on Harry's a beat too long as he reaches for the cup. “See you later, Harry,” he says. And wait, how did Louis know his name? Louis senses his question, gestures to his name tag. Duh. Harry blushes. 

“Have a great day, Louis.” 

Harry doesn’t obsess over Louis for the rest of his day, nor does he wank off to thoughts of the prettiest boy he’d ever seen while showering. Harry’s day met a minor pause named Louis Tomlinson, but afterward continued on much like any other Monday would. 

Mrs. Jones from three streets over came in for a peanut butter cupcake for her miniature poodle - something Harry had advised against in the beginning, but had since learned to bake a batch of dog-friendly peanut butter cupcakes a week specifically for Mrs. Jones and Tootie. 

His best friend Niall, being that he was Harry’s only friend in London besides Pezza, stopped by and propped his skinny arse right down on the glass counter, digging into the platter of cookies before Harry can slap his hand away. 

And Meredith waves after Harry sadly as he leaves at the end of the day, turning off the lights as he goes so she won’t have to worry about doing so before she heads upstairs to her flat. He’s tired of sad eyes, if he’s being honest. He’d moved to London almost a year ago now. He’d more than moved on since the catastrophe of his life that was Nick Grimshaw. 

At least, he thought he was doing alright. He remembered to call his mom at least twice a week; his sister, once. He went out with his friends, like, twice a month, maybe? But he was keeping a cat alive, not to mention himself, and he was halfway through his binge-watch of the month, Queer Eye. Granted it was only the second week of February, so he probably should’ve done something other than spending Valentine’s weekend on the couch decidedly NOT pouting about both of his friends being out with their significant others. 

By the next day, he had almost forgotten about Louis. Today, Perrie was working with Harry, making the day go by a ton quicker. Lunchtime rolled around, and with it, the lunch rush. Both himself and Perrie had three customers each at their register and the bell above the door was continuously dinging. Harry knows Louis is the most recent customer almost immediately, but instead of getting in one of the lines, he walks off to the side and sits at one of the small, empty tables. Harry has time to quirk an eyebrow before attending to the rest of the guests. 

It takes twenty minutes for the queue to clear out, for Louis to approach the registers. “How can I help you today, Louis?” Harry smiled and said as if it were the easiest thing in the world. In reality, he was one breath away from hyperventilating and he could feel his cheeks pinkening. 

“Hey, Harry,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “What do you recommend today?” 

“Not up for another cherry danish?” Harry asked with a pout. “It wasn’t any good?”

“Delicious, love,” Louis insisted. “Thought I’d eventually try everything, though.”

Harry’s smile grew and he watched as Louis’ eyes darted down to it. He was sure his dimples were showing themselves off. They liked to do that sort of thing around pretty boys. Harry’s eyes darted over what he could see of Louis, taking every part of him in, from the tattoos lining his arms to his hair, swirled up like a - “Cinnamon roll,” Harry finally said, clearing his throat and diverting his eyes immediately afterward. “They’re pretty good.” 

“A cinnamon roll it is then, I think.” 

Harry bustled around, making a tea the way Louis liked it and packing up a cinnamon roll. He could feel both Louis and Perrie staring at him, knew Perrie would burst as soon as Louis left the bakery. He tried to rush through the process, shortening the awkward silence in a way he’d tried to lengthen it the day prior. “Here you go. Two pounds, please. Tea’s on the house.” 

Louis reached into his wallet, pulling out a five pound note. “A man after my own heart,” he commented, handing it over. Harry’s blush deepened as he counted out the boy’s change, handing it back along with the receipt. “Have a good day, love. See you tomorrow.” 

He was gone quicker than he came, the bell ringing followed by an intense silence that was only broken by Perrie’s squeal. Harry immediately shushed her, looking back towards the back of the shop where Meredith was baking. 

“Harry!” she exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me you had a lad!” 

“That’s because I don’t,” he said, busying himself with cleaning down the nearby tables.

“Well you’ve got yourself an admirer for sure! Lewis wants in your pants!” 

“We don’t even know he’s gay, Pezza. We shouldn’t assume. Maybe he’s just that flirty with everyone.” Even as he says it, it hurts. 

“Didn’t flirt with me, that’s for sure,” she mumbled, but otherwise let the conversation drop. 

 

Louis became a regular occurrence in their little bakery, popping in every day around lunch and waiting nearby if there was a queue, asking for Harry’s pastry recommendation and making a few cheeky comments before making his way out of the door again. Perrie bothered him each time afterwards before the next wave of customers made their way inside, pointing out his blush and wide eyes. 

By Saturday, Perrie was done with Harry’s placidness. “So, Louis,” she started, leaning over the counter so Louis could get a decent peek down the front of her polo shirt. Harry hissed from behind her as he boxed Louis’ pastry of the day - a Manchester tart. Louis’ eyes flitted from Harry, to Perrie, to her cleavage, and back to her face again. Harry took sick pleasure in his obvious discomfort. 

“What does a bird gotta do to get you to ask her round your place?” she asked shamelessly.

“Er…” Louis replied hesitantly, looking back over to Harry for some sort of support. Harry wasn’t helpful in the least however, his smile growing with Louis’ discomfort. Of course, turning Perrie down wouldn’t mean he was - “Sorry, love. I’m flattered, but I’m bent.” 

Harry resisted the urge to cheer as Perrie’s smile grew to match his. “How nice,” she says. “So is Harry here.” The smile fell as he elbowed his friend, ignoring the hiss of pain. He looked back up to Louis to apologize for her forwardness, only to find him staring back down at Harry with a rather hungry grin.

“Is he?” he asked. “Good to know.”

 

The next day was Harry’s first day off since the previous Sunday and he was excited to drive up to Holmes Chapel to visit his mum and sister. It was a long drive, tiring and cold, but he’d made it once a month since he’d moved and he wasn’t about to skip this one - even if his mind was back in the quaint little bakery in London with the beautiful blue-eyed boy with a sharp tongue. 

His mum greeted him at the door, throwing her arms around his neck like it’d been years since she’d seen him last. Harry chuckled, wrapping the arm that wasn’t holding his duffel around her waist, tucking his face into her neck like he did when he was a small, shy boy. “Come on, love, in, in!” she urges, pulling him into the little warm home he shared with his sister for 18 years. He shrugs off his jacket, hanging it in the closet by the door and kicking off his shoes. 

“Gemma popped out to the market for some butter, but she’ll be back shortly,” she babbled, leading him slowly into the kitchen. “Hot cocoa?” 

Harry smiles, dimples and all, nodding. Nothing in the whole wide world is better than Anne Twist’s hot cocoa, he thinks. It was the first thing his mother made as soon as she carted him home from Nick’s, the heal-all for the winter hols he spent holed up with a broken leg instead of outside playing with his sister and mates, the final ritual every Christmas Eve before going to bed. He greets Robin with open arms and an equally excited smile causing the older man to chuckle. “How are you, son?” 

“Good, good. Bakery’s good, Nialler’s good, Fish’s good. Pretty much all that matters, innit?” 

Anne smiles sadly in towards him and he pretends he doesn’t notice. He’s so tired of sad smiles. 

 

“Is that my baby brother?” Gemma shouts as she throws open the door. 

“Gem!” Harry calls back, swiveling off the back of the barstool and heading out of the kitchen towards her. He throws his arms around her upon meeting, holds her tightly in a way he never does his mother. 

“It’s good to see you,” Gemma whispers and Harry knows it’s the only kind thing she’ll say to him while he’s home. 

“You, too,” he admits. 

She pushes him off then, complaining about his stench as she discards her jacket onto the back of the couch and makes her way into the kitchen for her own mug of hot cocoa - even though she’s not the one who moved so far away. 

Harry’s so, so happy to be home. 

 

“ _Ur boy looked proper lost without u_ ,” Perrie sends around one in the afternoon. Harry smiles unintentionally, gaining Gemma’s attention instantly. She plucks the phone from his hand before Harry realizes what’s happened, reading the text aloud.

“Ooh, who’s your boy, Haz?” she mocks. 

“No one,” Harry argues, reaching for his phone. She snatches it out of his reach last second. “Pezza’s just being rude.” 

Gemma hums as she hands over the phone. It vibrates again moments later, a stealthily taken picture of Louis sitting at one of the tables in the bakery, just a tea in hand. “ _Even refused a pastry!_ ” it reads underneath. He forces his face not to smile, which results in what Gemma calls a ‘serial killer stare.’

When he looks back up, his mum is smiling, but it doesn’t look sad. She adverts her eyes and takes a sip of her tea before changing the subject. 

 

He’s only in Holmes Chapel for two days and one night, arriving back in London around eight in the evening. He’s lonely immediately, flipping on the light switch and looking around his entirely too quiet, too still, too empty flat. He rarely lets himself think about it, feels guilty doing so after everything his mother went through to get him to London after the Nick fiasco, but sometimes he misses his ex-boyfriend.

He was a dick, for sure; made Harry feel terrible about himself, isolated him from his friends and family. He was constantly on edge, scared to breathe the wrong way and inspire Nick’s ire. He’d thrown away his pretty clothes, cut his long curls off, and stopped painting his nails all to please the man, but nothing ever worked. Anytime Harry got rid of one thing Nick made fun of him for, he found another. Harry spoke too slowly, was too flamboyant, ate strangely, was too kind to strangers, spent too much money on clothes, was too fat, too tall… the list went on forever. 

But still, Nick was constant. He was there, and he spooned Harry every night when they went to sleep, kissed him and played with his hair after sex. He’d somehow simultaneously made Harry feel like he was worth less than the dirt under Nick’s shoes and the most loved human-being in the world. And Harry was so fucking lonely, he craved him sometimes. 

Logically, he knew he was better off without Nick in his life. But at two in the morning, when sleep wouldn’t come and his bed was too cold and his flat was too quiet, he wanted nothing more than Nick and his curled upper lip and his annoying dog and his long arms wrapped around securely around Harry’s middle. 

 

“Hazza!” Louis exclaims as he walks through the bakery door, startling Harry and causing him to hit his head against the bakery case again. He finishes placing the tray of croissants before standing up tall and rubbing his head. Perrie comes out from the back room to see what the commotion is. 

Louis is laughing when Harry finally meets his eye, his head thrown back like Harry hurting himself is the funniest thing he’s ever witnessed. As his head comes back down, his hand goes up, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as his squeaky laugh continues. “Sorry, love,” he finally gets out. “Didn’t mean to scare you, though that seems to be a bit of a tradition for the two of us.” 

“What can I get you today, Lou?” he asks, the nickname rolling off his tongue. He blushes deeply, hoping the other boy didn’t notice. His smile claims otherwise. 

“No, no, pretty boy. You know how this goes.”

If he thought he was blushing before it’s nothing to how absolutely tomato-like he looks now. “Um,” he says, playing with his lips out of nervous habit. “The mixed berry scones?” 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Louis jests.

“Telling,” he mumbles in reply, turning his back to make the boy’s tea so he doesn’t see the serial killer stare that takes over his face when he tries not to smile at Louis’ teasing. He bags the scone and hands both of them over, taking the five pound note already in Louis’ hand, passing the change and receipt back a moment later. 

“Got a pen, love?” he asks and then, “Thanks?” a moment later when Perrie produces one with a freakish grin. He pens something down on the receipt before passing it back to Harry. “See you tomorrow!” he calls as he walks out the door. 

When Harry picks up the receipt, a collection of numbers is written in one of the blank spaces, complete with “Louis” and a cross eyed smiley face doodle. Perrie squeals in a barely contained manner and Harry doesn’t even shush her this time. 

 

“ _Hey Lou_.” Harry texts later, once he’s walked home from the bakery and found himself alone in his too-quiet flat again. 

“ _Whos this?_ ” he gets back, and a rush of anxiety swells in Harry as he wonders just how many people Louis gives his number out to on a daily basis and maybe it didn’t mean what he’d thought it meant and maybe Louis saw through him just like Nick had and maybe - “ _Only kidding H. Off work?_ ” 

Harry releases a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “ _Yes, how was your day?_ ” 

“ _Started incredibly boring. Had a rush of excitement around one, but back to mediocre until just a few minutes ago._ ” 

Harry’s happy Louis isn’t here to see his reactions anymore. A bit less embarrassing that way. 

“ _Funny. Could say the same myself_.” 

 

Despite now texting day and night, Louis still shows up daily at the bakery, expecting a tea and a pastry of Harry’s choice and getting Perrie’s ribbing as an unintended bonus. Now, though, Louis tended to dally after the transaction. He teased Harry a bit more than he did prior, brought up inside jokes from their text conversations that left Perrie confused. Meredith came out a time or two to see what all the fuss was about, smiling happily when she saw Louis before flitting back into the backroom. 

“I’m happy to see you smile, lad,” she said one night before Harry left.

Harry turned back to her, the confusion evident on his face to make up for the butterflies swimming in his stomach. “Thanks, Meredith,” he said with a tone that caused the older lady to chuckle. 

“Your boy is cute,” she said. “And he makes you happy.”

“Oh, he’s - um. He’s not my boy,” he replied. 

Meredith chuckled again, going back to kneading the dough in front of her. “Whatever you say, lad.” 

 

Louis was stalling awkwardly around the cash register the following day, a miniature pumpkin pie boxed up in his hand despite the fact that it was April and “pumpkin season” was long over and too far away for pumpkin pies to be appropriate. Their conversation had long died out and even Perrie’d grown tired of the strangeness and went back to help Meredith. 

“So, like, what would you say if I asked you out to dinner one night?” 

Harry’s breath caught but he did his best to school his expression into something resembling nonchalance. He pretended to think about it for a few seconds, watching Louis sweat. “‘M not sure,” he finally said, watching Louis’ face fall just a bit before he caught it. “Suppose you’d have to actually ask me and see.” 

“Ugh,” Louis exclaimed, shoving roughly at Harry with his free hand, but smiling all the same. “You’re a menace. I’ve changed my mind.” 

“But how will you ever know what I’d say?” Harry asked with a matching smile. 

“Fine! Hazza, will you please go to dinner with me this Saturday at six?” 

“Yes,” Harry replied at once, saving the boy from the pretending act he’d forced him through earlier. “I’d say yes.” 

Louis’ smile grew exponentially. “Text me your address?” 

“Um,” Harry replied awkwardly. He never had anyone over at his home unless he was positive he could trust them. Something about feeling prisoner in his old flat with Nick had done that to him, he was sure. “Can we meet at the restaurant instead?” 

Louis seemed taken aback by the request, but didn’t falter too much. “Uh, sure, Hazza. Whatever you want.” 

“Text me the address of the place tonight?” 

“Yes,” Louis replied. “Yes, of course.”

 

Harry wasn’t having a breakdown. He wasn’t. Sure his bedroom looked like a tornado hit it, clothes strewn everywhere in a very stereotypical first-date manner and he’d picked up his phone to cancel on Louis twice, but he wasn’t having a breakdown. He was just torn.

He’d only known Louis for a few short months, but he really liked him, and didn’t want to do anything to make him change his mind about Harry. And perhaps it wasn’t fair to the other boy, but all Harry could think about was the multitude of things Nick didn’t like and how he shouldn’t wear his heeled boots because if he was a bit taller than Louis, that may turn the boy off. Or how if he wore one of his favorite blouses, he may come off as “too flamboyant”. Did he bother painting his nails? He figured he’d probably end up picking it all off in nervousness on the way to the restaurant, so it’d be safer not to, he guessed. 

He reached for his phone again, making himself bypass Louis’ number for Niall’s. It rang three times before the Irish lad answered. 

“Wey hey, Harry! Thought you had that hot date toni-.” 

“I don’t know what to wear!” Harry wailed, cutting him off. “All of my clothes are hideous and Louis’ gonna take one look at me and walk right back out the door.”

“Er…” Niall said, hesitating. “I don’t think he will, mate. Not trying to be insensitive here, but shouldn’t you have called Pezza for this?” 

“She’s working,” he whined. “She took my shift so I could have tonight off after I begged her for two days straight and I owe her three shift swaps down the road, which doesn’t seem fair, but that’s not the point.” 

“Uh, why don’t you wear that one shirt. The one with the hearts on it that you wore last time I took you out to pull.” 

“If it had worked last time when you took me out to pull, I might do, but it didn’t.” Harry threw himself back on the bed, atop a mountain of clothes, and closed his eyes. “I just want him to like me,” he whispered desperately. 

“Aw, Hazza. He does like you or he wouldn’t have asked you out. If I was gay, I’d go for you!” 

Harry chuckled. “Give you enough pints and you’ll go for anyone, Nialler, that’s not much of a compliment.”

“Oi, I’d go for you sober, ya dickhead.” The two laughed together for a few moments before Harry clued into the background noise on Niall’s end of the call. 

“Shit, you’re out. I’m sorry, Ni, I’ll let you go. Thanks for the reassurance that I’m pretty even to straight boys.” 

“Anytime, mate,” he said before hanging up. 

Harry didn’t get up from his position on the bed, however, still moping. It was nearing 7:00. He had to leave to meet up with Louis shortly and Harry was still just as lost on what he should wear as he’d been an hour ago when he started looking. He wanted to go for something that could be considered both casual and dressy, because he'd never been to the restaurant Louis had mentioned, but he still wanted to look his best. He knew looks weren’t the most important thing in the world, but the self-esteem issues that had been long rooted in his brain from his previous relationship still reared their ugly head all of the time. His phone buzzed with an incoming text and Harry pulled himself out of his wallowing just long enough to read it. 

“ _Leaving my dorm around 7:30. Can’t wait to see you babe._ ” 

Harry smiled down at the text for a total of two seconds before its contents really hit him. Louis would be on his way soon and Harry had to get to the restaurant first, had to be there so he wouldn’t have the chance to chicken out when he saw Louis. He jumped up, going through his clothes once more before deciding on a navy plaid button down (and no, he absolutely did not choose it because it reminded him of the other boy’s eyes.) He slid into the tightest black jeans he owned, jumping up and down to force them all the way up. 

“ _How many buttons undone is too many buttons undone? I want to look edible but not desperate_ ,” he texted Perrie en route to his bathroom. He had a total of five minutes to arrange his curls into something presentable, forcing himself not to throw on a hat to cover them. It was rude to wear hats indoors and if the date went the way it hoped, it would end in a kiss, and he really didn’t want the hat getting in the way of that. 

“ _Do three_ ,” Perrie replied simply. This was why he loved her. 

He unbuttoned an extra button whilst walking back to his tiny closet, going through his shoes until he found his nicest trainers. His hand faltered, looking over to the shiny, black boots beside them. They were beautiful, brand new looking and rarely worn. In fact, he’d bought them with his first check from the bakery and then put them straight into his closet, only pulling them out to wear around his house whilst getting ready for a night out just to chicken out and put them back. Next to them sat the much more flamboyant version - black, glittery boots. Nick had thrown those out once. He’d come home to half of his stuff thrown out the window into a dumpster. As soon as Nick popped into the shower, Harry ran down the stairs to salvage them. It was all he really had time to salvage and hide before his boyfriend got out of the shower. He hadn’t worn them since. He smiled fondly at them. 

His phone buzzing again with the reminder of Perrie’s unopened text brought him back to the present. In a split second decision, he reached for the lower-key ones, snatching them up and shoving his feet into them almost too roughly, before making his way to the door before he could second guess himself. The restaurant Louis had chosen was but a short walk away, but still, he’d have to move fast to beat Louis there. 

Turns out he didn’t beat Louis there. Even though he arrived 15 minutes early. He could see the older boy through the window, sitting at a table for two towards the middle of the room, looking sinful, even from this distance. He was wearing a black shirt, his hair styled in a very devil-may-care sort of look, but that was all he could see from here. He kept looking around nervously, fiddling with his menu for a few moments before setting it back down and cracking his knuckles and looking so, so different from the sure, bright boy who invaded Harry’s bakery every day. 

And Harry wanted to flee so badly. He wanted to go back to his flat and pack up his stuff and call his mum and cry for a bit and have her help arrange for him to live somewhere else for a bit. Manchester, maybe. It was closer to home, at least. He was just getting ready to fish for his phone and make his apologies to Louis when the boy’s wandering eyes landed on Harry. His face read surprise for a moment before a smile took over, raising his hand in a small, hesitant wave. 

He looked genuinely happy to see Harry and there was nothing in the world that would keep him away, now. He was already struggling to keep hold of his heart. He smiled and waved back, heading round towards the entrance and walking inside. He bypassed the hostess with a polite smile and headed towards Louis. 

“Hazza,” Louis said fondly as he approached, standing and rounding the table, stopping near the opposite chair and pulling Harry into a hug. “You look gorgeous, darling.” 

Harry blushed, able to see Louis’ full outfit now. His black shirt was just a tad sheer, chest tattoos he’d never seen before shining through slightly. He’d also paired his outfit with black skinnies - though not nearly as tight as Harry’s - and black dress shoes. “You, too,” Harry mumbled. “You look… wow.” 

Louis chuckled lightly. “Thank you, love,” he said, pulling Harry’s chair out for him, and oh, God, Louis was a fucking gentleman, Harry would never last. He thanked Louis awkwardly, sitting down and picking up the menu waiting for him. “Order whatever you’d like,” he says and Harry takes it as a challenge. If he couldn’t flee from Louis, perhaps he could make Louis flee - turn him off by doing all the things that turned Nick off. It’d be better if he left now, rather than when Harry’s heart was really tied up. 

When the waitress approaches, Louis gestures for him to order first. “May I just have the fish and chips, please?” He watches Louis for a reaction, but only sees his upper lip twitch into a half smile. 

“Same for me, please,” Louis says, handing back their menus and watching the waitress walk away. “So, not to be cliche, but I don’t really know much about you besides how lovely your blush is. Tell me about yourself, your family.” 

They talked back and forth, only pausing when the waitress arrived with their meals. Harry regretted his food choice instantly, munching on it slowly throughout the evening. Harry learned a lot about Louis - he is the oldest child in his family, with five sisters and a brother whom he adores. He goes to uni for music production, is in his final year and dreams of owning a record label one day. He has a side-job on campus at the Starbucks and shared a student accommodation flat with his friends Liam and Zayn, who had been a lovely couple for 3 years. Louis prides himself on getting them together, though he warns they’ll tell him differently. 

Harry is more cautious about the parts of himself he gives away. He has one older sister who live in a small village a few hours away and he visits them monthly. He has a pet cat who really isn’t his pet so much as the neighbourhood pet, but still. And two friends - Perrie and Niall. Louis pokes and prods delicately for more information, but Harry keeps his lips tight, making jokes instead. 

Harry’s jokes often fall flat on the best of times, mostly earning a shove, a small smile, and his name said in a very exasperated tone. In company, Nick would often curl his lip but stay silent, later berating Harry about his horrid social skills when they were in private. Louis, however… Louis treated his jokes like they were the funniest things he’d ever heard, and it seemed genuine. He threw his head back, uncaring for anyone who may be walking behind him, threw a hand over his mouth as if he were worried about being too loud in their social setting, and developed small crinkles next to his eyes. It made Harry want to try harder to make them appear. 

The night was over far quicker than Harry would’ve liked, the waitress having to hint at them that the restaurant closed at nine. “Want that boxed up?” Louis asked, pointing towards his half-eaten fish and chips. 

“Uh,” Harry said, looking down at the plate awkwardly. “You can have it if you want. Elsewise, I’m good.” Louis quirks an eyebrow at his strange tone. “Confession time? I don’t much care for fish and chips. Too greasy for me.” 

The intense, confused look intensifies. “Then why’d you order it, love? Told you you could’ve gotten anything you wanted.” 

Harry rubs his hands down his thighs a few times nervously. “Uh, my, um, ex-boyfriend didn’t like me eating unhealthy food.” 

Louis’ face softens like he understands something he couldn’t possibly, a small smile present as he says, “Ah, testing me then?” amusedly. 

“Kinda?” Harry asked more than said. “I’m sorry, Lou. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No, it wasn’t really,” Louis says. “But it’s alright. I’m not upset.” The waitress approaches with the bill and places it on the table, Louis snatching it up quickly before Harry has the chance to see it, though he can guess the amount. It’s a gesture more than anything. “Can we have his plate boxed, please, love?” he says to her with a smile Harry has often tripped over his feet upon receiving. He feels bad for the poor girl. 

“When can I see you again?” Harry blurts as she walks away. 

Louis seems surprised at his eagerness. “Tomorrow at the bakery I’d imagine.” Before Harry can panic over the idea that maybe he’d fucked up their date so spectacularly that Louis didn’t want to take Harry back out, the older boy smiled. “Only kidding, babe. What do you work next weekend?” 

“Both days,” Harry pouted. “I had to trade Pezza so I could have tonight off. It was her weekend off.”

Louis laughed, reaching across the table for Harry’s hand and thumbing over his knuckles. Harry’s breath caught, but he tried not to be too terribly obvious. “We’ll figure it out, Hazza. I wanna see you again, too.” 

The two walked out of the restaurant, Louis hand hovering over the small of Harry’s back - not touching, but close enough that Harry felt annoyingly safe just by its very presence. “Where are you parked?” he asked when they got to the sidewalk. 

“I walked,” Harry admitted, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. 

“Let me drive you home?” Louis offered, and Harry contemplated for a few seconds. Just because Louis drove him to the kerb of his flat complex, didn’t mean he’d know which flat was Harry’s. He’d have absolutely no way of knowing, though a small voice in the back of Harry’s head whispered that he didn’t much care if Louis did know. He shut the voice up immediately. He couldn’t trust Louis this fully so soon. That was his number one fault: always trusting people too quickly. “Or if you’d rather, I can get you a cab,” Louis said awkwardly and Harry became instantly aware he’d stalled for too long. 

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “If you wanna drive me home, I’d really appreciate it. If it’s not too far out of your way, that is. It’s about a five minute walk that way,” he said, pointing off into the darkness. 

“That’s fine, love,” Louis replied with a smirk as he walked over to a small, white Kia, holding the passenger door open for Harry.

With a smile, Harry made his way over, folding himself into the small front seat, not daring to fiddle with the adjustment levers. For whatever reason, that screamed of permanence. He watched as Louis walked around to the driver’s side of the car, fiddling with the keys in one hand while holding Harry’s takeout box in the other. 

“So you had fun, then?” he asked once they were finally on the road. He glanced over to Harry a few times, taking his eyes off the road for a second and biting his bottom lip.

“Yes, Lou,” Harry replied. “Of course. I always have fun with you.” 

A crinkle-eyed smile lit up Louis’ features. “Good, good,” he mumbled. 

They were at Harry’s flat all too soon, Louis pulling up alongside the kerb and jumping out of the car as soon as it was turned off to open Harry’s door for him again. “You know I am capable of doing things myself,” Harry teased, causing Louis to blush for the first time ever in Harry’s presence. 

“I know,” he said, looking towards his feet. “Just like doing things for you.”

“I’m kidding. I really appreciate it,” he replied, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Louis’ wrist. 

The two hesitated by the car for a few minutes, the air thick with expectation. “Can I kiss you goodnight?” Louis finally asked, looking back up at Harry. 

Harry’s breath caught, his stomach doing flips. “Y-yeah,” he said, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.” 

Louis smiled, stepping closer to the younger boy and standing up on his toes. Harry bent down a bit to meet him halfway, wrapping his arms around his waist lightly as one of Louis’ hands made its way to his jaw. The moment their lips met, Harry realized it was over for him. He was done, gone, out for the count. He would never, ever get over Louis Tomlinson. Never be anything less than absolutely obsessed with him, never want anything more than to kiss him. It scared the shit out of him. 

It was a small kiss, innocent, but not as chaste as a schoolyard peck. Their lips slotted together a few times, but there was no rush, no bruising force or intention. Harry smiled into it and felt Louis do the same until the kiss was more teeth than lips. Louis got down off his toes, planting his feet back flat against the ground, and Harry chased his lips until it was uncomfortable, pulling away with a frown. 

“Goodnight, Hazza,” Louis whispered. “Dream of me.”

“You’ve no idea,” Harry mumbled in reply, letting go of Louis and forcing himself to walk inside. He turned back to wave at the older boy halfway to the door of his building. Louis waved back with a wide grin. 

 

It took two weeks before Harry and Louis could go out again. No time at all in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like years if Harry was being honest (and that kinda scared him very much a lot.) But lo and behold, two Saturdays from the one spent laughing in a restaurant til close, Harry and Louis were walking among the exhibits in the zoo, Harry pointing at various animals to get Louis’ attention off himself. It didn’t help. 

And then there was a third date at the cinema - giggling and whispering to each other more than watching the movie - and a fourth date at Hyde Park, walking hand in hand around the lakes. Their fifth date was at Harry’s flat. Louis had mentioned, in passing, hanging out at one of their places one night and just eating takeaway while watching telly, followed by the immediate dismissal of his own shared flat. 

“Don’t get me wrong, the lads are dying to meet you. I’m mostly being selfish is all. Think you’ll run for the hills once they unleash whatever embarrassing stories they have on me and I’ve decided I quite like you, I suppose,” he’d said. 

“Oh, just decided have you?” Harry’d replied. “It’s fine, we can hang out at mine.” His answer showed none of the anxiety sitting just on the underside of his skin. 

The day eventually came, quicker than he would’ve liked if he were being honest. Usually, the time between their dates dragged, even though Louis was still coming to the bakery - though seldom buying pastries anymore. (“Really the only time I genuinely came here for a pastry and some tea was the first day,” he admitted on one visit. “After that, it was just to see the cute, clumsy boy behind the register.” Perrie had fake gagged. Apparently they weren’t cute anymore.) 

He’d spent every second he had off work cleaning his flat. It wasn’t dirty, really. He was a pretty clean person, but when Harry was nervous, he obsessed. And right now, he was obsessing over the fact Louis was going to be sitting in his flat in just a few minutes. He’d gotten up and paced around his living room multiple times, forcing himself to sit back down on the couch and wait for Louis’ knock while nervously biting at his fingers and jiggling his knees, before standing back up and starting all over again. 

When the knock came, Harry almost pissed himself, the sound sneaking up on him despite the fact that he’d been waiting for it. He counted to ten before walking over to the door, not wanting to seem as if he’d been waiting. Louis pecked his lips as soon as the door opened, saying “hey, love,” and walking inside with arms full of takeout cartons like he’d been there a hundred times. 

“You can just sit those on the coffee table,” Harry said, distracted. God, he’d seen Louis in sheer shirts and painted on jeans and bundled up in winter coats, but this Louis - this Louis with unstyled hair, joggers tucked into his socks, and a too-big hoodie had Harry salivating. 

“Love your place. Are those framed Little Mix vinyls? I love them, but if you tell Liam or Zayn, I’ll deny it. It’s my sister's’ fault really,” Louis rambled, walking back over to Harry where he was still waiting with the door open and toeing off his Vans, leaving them in a pile next to Harry’s line of recently-worn shoes. “Hazza?” 

Harry cleared his throat, focusing on the crease between Louis’ eyebrows, the worry at Harry’s non-attention evident. Out of habit, he raised his hand, thumbing across the crease to smooth it out. Louis relaxed against his touch and grinned. “Tour?” 

The younger boy hummed. “Bit forward of you innit? Just wanna see my bedroom. I know your tricks.” 

“You’ve got me,” Louis agreed, reaching for Harry’s hips and pulling him in. He stood on his toes to reach Harry’s lips, sucking the bottom one in between his own and nipping it lightly. Harry kissed him for a few moments before tearing away. 

“Not sure what you take me for, Tomlinson.”

“A bloody saint, apparently,” he heard him mumble, but pretended he hadn’t. He knew Louis wanted to take their relationship further, and to be fair, it didn’t usually take five dates and three months to get there, but Harry was apprehensive. He didn’t want Louis to see him naked, didn’t want to be laid out bare and vulnerable for him, knew he would make fun of his high whines and breathy moans just like Nick had. “Feel like I’m shagging a bloody girl,” Nick had said countless times, often pressing down his mouth as hard as he could manage to muffle the noises. But Louis would only take so many hard-stops while snogging and rutting against one another before he took himself elsewhere to satiate his sex drive. “C’mon Hazza, let’s get started on Gogglebox.” 

 

They’d started the night sitting on the couch, thighs pressed against one another while they ate from various cartons, trading them between the two of them every so often. Now, four episodes later, Louis was sprawled out on Harry’s couch, feet in his lap and head rested on one of Harry’s throw pillows like he was a prince and this was his castle. Harry kind of loved that about him, his ability to be himself no matter where he was, to be comfortable in any situation. He kind of envied it. 

The show had been long ignored, the two of them choosing to play a rousing game of 20 questions instead - although they were probably on question 50 or better by now. “What embarrassing story are you most worried the boys will spill when I meet them?”

Louis groaned, covering his face and shifting from his back to his side, jostling Harry’s hands on his calves. “Harry,” he whined, causing a dimpled-grin from said lad. 

“No lies,” Harry sing-songed. 

He huffed, sitting up abruptly and wagging a finger near Harry’s face. “Fine, but no laughing or I’ll never speak to you again, got it?” Harry doubted he’d be able to keep the promise, considering those warnings typically weren’t prologued onto unfunny stories. “In my first year at uni, when the lads and I went to our first proper party, I was trying so hard to be a cool kid, that I drank entirely too much. Like, black-out pissed, right? Well, my ex-boyfriend was there and I wanted to seem like I’d gotten over him, so I start flirting with this girl - a girl, Haz. We ended up going as far as snogging in a corner. Point being, he didn’t take any notice whatsoever and the girl slapped the shit out of me when she found out I was gay.” 

Harry’s lips were tightly pressed together, going white from the effort. When he thought he might be able to open his mouth without laughing, he finally said. “I mean, at least you didn’t end up sleeping with her?” 

Louis cringed. “Very true. She’s a very good friend of mine now and everything, but Eleanor just isn’t -”

“Your type?” Harry joked. 

“Shut up, you! We all had a few girls before realizing we were bent!” Harry shook his head proudly, although it wasn’t a victory or anything. “Oh come off it, Hazza! You’ve dated women before, you had to have.”

“Nope,” Harry said, popping the ‘p.’ “Only had one proper boyfriend before -” He shut up immediately, pressing his lips back together and staring back at Louis with wide eyes. 

Louis’ face softened, looking back at Harry fondly as he reached for one of his hands, thumbing over the knuckles. “Before what, darling? Was gonna say before me, weren’t you?” Harry whined at the jest. “Aw, H. Of course we’re boyfriends, love.” 

Harry grinned, dimples topped by a blush. “‘S your turn,” he said, just to get the attention off himself, although he did squeeze his hand a bit to acknowledge the sentiment. 

“Hmm,” Louis pretended to think. “Speaking of boyfriends, tell me about your ex, since you’ve just got the one.”

Harry freezes. He can literally feel himself stiffen. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Nick would eventually come up between the two of them. He knew part of long-term relationships was discussing the exes, explaining why they were your exes and how your relationship with them had affected you. Harry just wasn’t ready. “What do you want to know?” he asked, hoping for a nonchalant tone as he looked down to his hands in his lap again. 

“What was his name?”

“Nick.” 

“How long were you together?” 

Harry cleared his throat. It stung with tears and the strain of keeping them at bay. It wasn’t that he was sad or even upset enough to cry. He was scared, scared that if he told Louis about all the little things Nick said and did and knew, that Louis would notice those imperfections too. “About two years.” 

He could tell Louis was thrown off by his demeanor, the short answers he was giving, but his questions persisted. “Why did you break up?”

“I, uh. I don’t really wanna talk about that, to be honest.” God, he was such a fuck-up. He couldn’t even communicate with his current boyfriend about a very large, very impactful part of his life. He felt Louis’ hand on his face, gaining his attention and making him look at him.

“That’s alright, love,” Louis said, simply. “One day, yeah? Want me to return the favor? Tell you all about my exes? Even the embarrassing bits?” he asked, aiming for jest. 

But no, Harry didn’t want to hear about the other boys (and apparently girls) that Louis had caught the eye of. The ones before him, who maybe didn’t have him now, but had still at one point in time been on the receiving end of Louis’ fond gazes, pet names and feather-light touches. “Not right now, if that’s okay?” he asked, but didn’t give Louis time to answer. “I kinda just want to go to bed.” 

Louis cleared his throat, letting go of Harry’s face. “Alright,” he said, standing up. “I’ll help you clean up then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Harry reached for his hand as he bent over to start gathering half-empty takeout cartons from the table. Louis turned to look at him, unable - or perhaps unwilling - to hide the exhaustion that had nothing to do with the time of night. “Are you upset with me?” 

“No,” Louis said with a half smile. “No, love, of course not.” He sat down on the edge of the coffee table across from Harry, taking both of the other boy’s hands in his. “I just - it feels like there’s a wall between us, yeah? Like, obviously I know we’ve not been together very long at all, but I want to know everything about you. And I know there are things you’re not ready to share, and I respect that, but it just feels like… you’re scared of me or something.”

The tears previously lining Harry’s eyes fell against his consent. Louis shushed him suddenly, letting go of his hands to cradle each side of his face, thumbing the tears away. “Oh, darling, don’t cry.”

“‘M sorry, Lou,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Louis head tilted slightly. “But you are scared of me.” 

Harry shook his head, a difficult task as it was still between Louis’ hands. “Not of you, no. Just…,” he took a deep breath, making himself become vulnerable in front of Louis was a difficult task after constantly being on the defensive. “I care about you entirely too much for such a short amount of time. I’m scared you’ll leave once you realize I’m not as perfect as you think I am.” 

Louis chuckled slightly, getting up from the table and fitting himself sideways in Harry’s lap. He rested his head against the other boy’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. “Hazza, there’s no need to worry about that, love. I’m absolutely smitten with you as well. And not just the perfect bits, either. Your inability to walk across a flat surface without inventing something to trip over, your objection to greasy foods, the horrible squawking laugh you do when one of my jokes fall just right. I like it all.” 

Harry laughs, just like Louis intended. “‘M sorry for being moody.”

“You’re just tired,” Louis replies. “It is quite late and I really should go.” 

Harry’s arms tighten around his waist. “Stay,” he whispers. “Just to sleep.”

Louis pretends to think about it. “Big spoon or little spoon?” he quizzes.

“Little spoon,” Harry admits sheepishly. 

Louis grins, standing up and stretching. He reaches a hand out for Harry to help him up. “Let’s go then, I need my beauty sleep to stay young for you.” 

“Too late,” Harry objects. “You’re already an old man.”

Louis squawks and Harry pats his arse and then runs down the hall towards the bedroom. Harry’s pretty positive he’s in love with Louis. And he’s pretty okay with it, too. 

 

Their sixth date was in fact mostly a merging of their friends and an excuse for Harry to meet Louis’ friends somewhere they didn’t have home field advantage. So, he supposes that’s how he ended up outside of Studio 338 on a Saturday night with all two of his friends in tow. Louis was already inside, a booth saved, waiting for his boy with a Cosmo - or so he’d texted Harry three minutes prior. 

Harry had freaked out about his outfit again, only calming down when Perrie came over and forced a sheer, black button down over his shoulders with a simple, “Four buttons this time, darling. It’s okay to look a little desperate at this point.” He smiled as he thumbed the buttons into their holes; he’d bought this shirt shortly after his first date with Louis and had yet to wear it. He poured himself into his tightest black jeans again. “Harold Styles, what are these?” Perrie exclaimed, coming back out of his closet with his glittery boots in tow. 

Harry stares back with wide eyes, stuttering slightly in no semblance of an answer. Perrie presses them against his chest. “Put them on,” she urges. “They’re gorgeous!” The worry fades, but doesn’t diminish completely. Still, he sits on the edge of his bed, pulling them onto his feet delicately. They fit like an old friend. 

“Are you ready, then? We’re running a bit late and if we wait much longer, I fear Niall will eat you out of house and home.” 

“Ni’s here?” Harry asks. How out of it had he been?

“Yes, love,” she replies simply. “If Louis comes home with you tonight, you’re shit out of luck with the way this room looks, I suppose, but oh well, he’s already gone for you anyway. Come, come,” she urges, calling to Niall as they head for the front door. Harry locked up behind himself and let her lead him to an already-waiting cab. 

And fast forward to where they were now, scrunched into the backseat of a cab together, dresses in their pulling best, headed to one of the most crowded clubs in London. Harry shoves his phone back between his thighs after answering Louis that they’re close, ignoring the way Niall still smiles at him every time he talks to or about Louis. 

“Hazza!” Louis yells as he makes his way into the club, Louis ambling over to him. He’s smiling salaciously and looking Harry up and down. “You look fucking sinful,” he whispers as their bodies clash together in a hug. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were here to pull.”

“Only for you,” Harry replies, pulling out of the embrace to kiss his boyfriend. He keeps it very chaste, aware of everything going on around them. “Take me to meet your friends.” 

And so Harry met Liam - who instantly embraced him with a large, clapping hug - and Zayn, who blurted “Louis got proper pissed once and snogged a girl to make his ex-boyfriend jealous.” 

“He told me,” Harry says with a smile, holding Louis’ hand a little tighter. 

“Ooh,” a brunette woman walking up beside them teased. “Told you about me already, eh? Must be getting serious.”

“Hey, El,” Louis greeted with a fond smile. Not as fond as the ones he reserved for Harry, but more like one for a friend he hadn’t seen in a bit. “How ya been?” 

“Good, good. Already done the rounds. Not a single fit boy in the whole damn place.” 

“Hey!” Louis squawked.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Been there, done that, babe.” She brought her attention around to Harry. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Eleanor,” she said, putting a hand forward. 

Harry shook it politely. “Harry,” he said.

“Oh yes, I’ve heard all about you. This one never shuts up. ‘What should I wear for our date, El?’ ‘Harry’s so funny, El.’ ‘Is Hyde Park too cliche for a date, El?’” she said, taking on a Yorkshire accent. 

“Oi!” Louis argued, elbowing her. “I do not sound like that!” 

“Yes, you do,” Liam, Zayn and Eleanor chorused. 

Louis frowned. “I don’t have to listen to this. Come, Harold, let’s go dance.” 

“But my Cosmo,” Harry whined, looking at the fruity drink condensing on the table.

“I’ll get you another,” Louis promised. 

Three Cosmos, two shots and a few sips of miscellaneous other drinks in and Harry was definitely feeling it. He was pressed against Louis, chest to chest, his arms around the older boy’s neck as he swayed his hips back and forth. Louis chuckled. “Oh, babe,” he said fondly. “You’re proper smashed.” 

Harry hummed, pressing his lips against Louis’ neck and working on a spot. “Lou,” he whispered. “Want you.”

“Haz,” Louis groaned, tugging Harry closer to him by his belt loops. “Been wanting you.” 

“Been so patient with me,” Harry whispered. “Think you should be rewarded.”

Despite the fact that Louis could feel his dick jump in his too-tight jeans, he still had enough of a clear mind to push his boyfriend back a bit. “Not tonight, darling. You’re pissed.” 

“Want you sober,” Harry promised, sticking his fingers down the waistband of Louis’ pants.

“Then if that’s the case we can pick this up tomorrow. C’mon, love, stop trying to undress me on the middle of the dance floor, let’s get you some water.” 

Harry whined at the idea, but followed Louis to the bar anyway, stumbling along and being led by the hand. Though the drinks hit him on the dance floor, the stages of drunk were cycling through them now. At first he’d been an outgoing drunk, talking to everyone, telling girls who walked by he liked their nail polish or their sparkly dresses. Then he’d been a horny drunk, rutting against Louis on the dance floor, begging him to take him home. Now, the sad drunk was crashing down around him as he bumped off of various people en route to the bar. 

Louis was probably mad at him. He’d made a fool of himself in front of Louis’ friends and tried to shove his hands down the other boy’s pants. He’d acted out, thrown back shots and tongued the straws of not only his drink but a few of Louis’ as well. By the time Louis had ordered the cup of water and turned around to hand it to Harry, the younger boy had tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“Love, what’s wrong?” he yelled over the music. Harry shook his head, sloshing the water over the top of the glass. Some of it landed on Louis’ shoes. Great. “Let’s go outside, babe.”

“Your shoes,” Harry howled. 

“They’re fine, love, they’re just shoes. C’mon,” he dragged Harry back through the crowd and outside. As soon as the fresh air hit Harry’s face, he doubled over, half-heartedly aiming for the bushes as he vomited, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “Aw, Hazza, let it out,” Louis said, rubbing the other boy’s back. He wrapped one hand around Harry’s growing curls, pulling them out of the line of fire. Harry spluttered and coughed, whining as he stood back up. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“Your friends,” Harry whined.

“They’ll understand, love, c’mon,” he said, waving down a cab. He pushed Harry into the car, sliding in next to him and mumbling the address to the cabbie.

“‘E’s not gonna be sick, is he?” the cabbie asked and Harry didn’t hear Louis reply, so he imagined he glared instead. 

“‘M sorry,” Harry whined again but Louis shushed him.

“Nothing to be sorry for, love. We went out and you let loose, it’s alright.” 

“Sorry for being a little slut,” Harry insisted and Louis was quiet for a few minutes.

“H, there’s no such thing as sluts. You were having fun with your boyfriend, love, it’s alright,” he repeated softly. 

“Flamboyant slut. ‘S what he called me all the time when we went out ‘nd I got tipsy. Flamboyant little slut.” 

He could hear the sharp intake of breath, feel it beneath his head where it laid against Louis’ chest. “He sounds like a right dick, Hazza. There’s nothing wrong with being a little flamboyant, and there’s nothing wrong with having fun. I had fun, too.”

Harry started crying again, covering his face. “You’re so lovely,” he wailed. “So kind to me, so much better than him. I don’t deserve you.” 

Louis shushed him again, carding his fingers through Harry’s curls. “We’re nearly home, love. C’mon, up you get.” 

 

Harry woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and rolling over. His body hit another, warm against his side and almost simultaneously, he caught the smell of Louis’ deodorant. “Lou,” he whined, blindly propping his head on the other boy’s chest. 

Louis chuckled, the rumble of it vibrating against Harry’s cheek. “There’s a cup of water and paracetamol on the nightstand, love,” he said, playing with his hair. 

“I feel like shit,” Harry mumbled. 

“I’m sure you do, darling. You were quite pissed last night.” 

“I didn’t embarrass myself in front of your friends, did I?” 

Louis hummed. “No more so than I have when I was wasted.” 

“That’s not a no,” Harry replied, rolling back over in the general direction of his night stand and finally opening his eyes. The room wasn’t as bright as he’d been expecting, especially knowing it had to be morning. He reached for the water and small pills next to it, noticing the emptied wastebasket from his bathroom on the floor. He swallowed the medicine, gulping down the entire glass of water before leaning back against the headboard. In the time it took for Harry to notice he was dressed differently from the night before and that Louis had tacked what appeared to be the blanket off the living room couch over the window in his bedroom, Louis had also gotten up, mirroring Harry’s position. Fish was lying on his lap and mewed dejectedly in irritation at being bothered. Harry didn’t remember letting him in before he left for the club, but perhaps Perrie or Niall had. 

“You weren’t embarrassing,” he finally said. “You said a few things that I want to talk to you about later, but nothing outwardly embarrassing.”

“Can we just talk about it now?” Harry whispered. He’d much rather get on with whatever Louis had to say than dwell on it for the next few hours, working himself into an anxious frenzy. 

Louis sighed. “You talked about Nick some,” he said, causing Harry to look at him with wide, nervous eyes. “You said he used to call you a ‘flamboyant slut’ or something like that.”

“Flamboyant little slut,” Harry corrected with a mumble, almost unconsciously. 

“Yes, that,” Louis said, reaching out for one of Harry’s hands, tugging it away from the other before he could continue to pick sores into the skin around his fingers. “You were quite upset. You kept saying sorry for being one, and wouldn’t listen when I told you you weren’t." 

“He would drag me out to these parties,” Harry said. “He was sort of a minor celebrity in some ways, had connections with a lot of socialites and models. He’d take me to industry parties and hand me a drink. When my inhibitions went away, I’d strike up conversations with whoever was near me, about anything really. I was friends with everyone and he hated that. I think he was jealous at how easy it was for me to become the center of attention and it wasn’t something I did purposefully, it was just who I was. I was outgoing and friendly and I adored the spotlight. I never cheated on him, or danced with any other men, but he’d always call me a slut anyway. A flamboyant little slut.” 

“H,” Louis said. “Babe, I saw that side of you last night, too, and it was incredible. You were finally having fun, looking like you weren’t one foot out the door the entire night. You let loose and you were so sure of yourself, so confident. It was beautiful, Harry.” Harry blushes at the attention. “Yes, you were a bit flamboyant and yes, you were very outgoing but I’m not angry at you for it. It’s who you are. And if he was angry at you for being yourself, well he wasn’t shit anyway, was he?” 

Harry smiled but didn’t reply, lost in his head a bit. Louis was so lovely to him, so kind. They’d only been dating about two months, but Harry was absolutely tits over arse in love with him and he felt like he would burst if he kept it in a second longer. “I love you, Louis,” he said. “I’m in love with you,” he repeated, just so there was no confusion. 

Louis smiled, crinkles by his eyes and all. “I love you, too, H. Have since the bakery, I think.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“While that may be true, you’re very easy to love, Harry.” Easy to love was not something Harry would’ve called himself. Not in a very long time at least. But with Louis, Harry felt it again. Outgoing, confident, free. Easy to love. 

“Do your friends hate me?” 

“Nah,” Louis replied with a smile. “They thought you were hilarious.” A rumble from his stomach cut off Harry’s reply. Louis laughed. “I’m afraid I’m not much good in the kitchen, but I could make you a cheese toastie if you want? They’re my go-to hangover food.” 

“A cheese toastie sounds marvelous.” 

 

Louis and Harry stumbled through the front door of Harry’s flat, tripping over each other as their lips pressed harshly against one another’s. Louis slammed the door shut behind him, turning Harry around and pressing his back against it. With his new leverage, Harry pulled his lips away from Louis’ to breathe, resting his head back against the door as Louis tended to his neck. “Lou,” he panted, but failed to gain the boy’s attention. “Lou,” he said again.

This time, Louis made a noise that sort of resembled basic acknowledgement that Harry was speaking to him, so he counted it as a win. “Lou, please. Take me to bed.”

That seemed to get his full attention, Louis pulling away from devouring Harry’s neck to look him in the eye. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered with a smile. 

“Fuck, Haz,” Louis replied, voice thick with want. “The bedroom, c’mon.” 

Louis was delicate about undressing him, kneeling down to his feet to help him out of his boots and placing them at the end of the bed like he realized how much Harry loved them, unbuttoning his blouse easily and draping it over the arm of his chair. Everything about Louis was gentle, from the way he undressed Harry - kissing every few inches as he revealed them, whispering compliments the whole way down - to the way he opened him up, three fingers covered in lube, pressing into him easily. 

“Good, love,” he whispered as Harry accepted the first finger, tiny praises slipping from his lips as he got Harry ready for him until Harry was writhing and whining on the bed, begging for Louis’ cock. “I’ve got you,” he promised, sliding a condom over himself and pouring a bit more lube onto his hand and working it in. “Ready, babe?” 

“Yes, Lou, please,” Harry babbled, lying on his back, stretched out bare before his boyfriend. Louis braced himself with one hand on the bed, hovering over Harry as he lined himself up, pressing just the head of his cock into the younger boy and watching his face for any sign of discomfort. 

Slowly, he bottomed out, dropping onto both hands and panting as he tried his best not to come on the spot. It’d been awhile for him and Harry was so, so tight around him. “Lou,” Harry whined. “Move.”

Louis chuckled at his eagerness, pulling out slowly until just the tip of his dick was inside the boy before thrusting forward roughly. Harry keened, arching off the bed and whining loudly before covering his face with one of his arms. 

“None of that, love,” Louis chastised, rocking into him a few more times. “No hiding, c’mon, I wanna hear your beautiful voice.” Harry slowly but surely removed his arm, unsure. “Good, love,” Louis said again, thrusting deep and listening to Harry’s whines. He fucked into the boy roughly, using Harry’s moans and groans as his atlas. 

“Fuck, love, you feel so good. Already so close,” Louis groans, pausing his thrusts long enough to press his lips against Harry’s. When he pulls back, Harry’s cheeks are stained red, eyes glassy. 

“Close, too,” Harry whined. “Please, Lou, please touch me.” 

Louis balanced his weight on one hand, bringing the other up to Harry’s cock, flushed and dripping against his stomach. The moment his fingers brushed it, the younger boy moaned out his name. “C’mon, darling,” Louis said, fisting Harry’s cock. “Come for me.”

Louis thumbed the tip of his boyfriend’s dick and Harry arched, coming so suddenly, it was as if it were wrenched from him against his will. Louis groaned, fisting him through his orgasm, thrusting shallowly until he was spilling into the younger boy as well, falling on top of him. He pressed an open mouth kiss against Harry’s lips, the two of them panting into one another’s mouths more than actually kissing. 

“That was brilliant, Lou,” Harry finally whispered. 

“You’ve killed me,” he replied, rolling off to the side and tugging Harry with him. Harry momentarily ignored the wetness on his chest, lying his head against Louis’ chest. 

“Love you,” he whispered. 

Louis hummed. “Love you too, baby. Shower in a bit?” 

“You’re not kidding anyone, Lou. You’re going to go to sleep and leave me to clean up on my own.” 

“No,” Louis protested as Harry got up to head to the bathroom. He grabbed his wrist, pulling him back down onto his chest. 

“Lou,” Harry said through a giggle. 

“Stay. We’ll shower tomorrow.”

“That’s gross,” Harry complained, but obliged, lying back down on his chest. 

“Hmm, yes, but you love me anyway.”

“God help me, I do.” 

 

Harry woke up to the sound of Louis’ hushed voice and the rumble of his chest below Harry’s cheek. “Yes mum, I’ll bring him home soon. Just don’t want to run him off.” Harry could hear the tinny sound of Louis’ mother through the speaker, but not enough to make out what she was saying. “Yes, yes, I know. I’ll invite him.” 

Harry perks up then, propping his head up on his chin against Louis’ chest. Louis smiles, pulling the phone away from his face slightly. “Morning, love,” he says, pursing his lips and craning his neck. Harry meets him halfway. 

“Morning,” he whispers, pointing in the general direction of the loo. Louis nods, pulling the phone back up beside his ear. 

“Yes, mum, I’m still here.” 

Harry returned from his shower, hair wet and nude. At this point, Louis had seen everything anyway. His boy was lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone, legs crossed at the ankle. “How’s your mum?”

“Naggy,” Louis said with a laugh. “Wants to meet you so badly she can barely stand it, I think. Wanted me to invite you to visit when I go next weekend.” 

“Ooh, meeting the parents,” Harry said. “Scary. Think she’ll like me?” 

Louis scoffs. “She already loves you.” 

 

The next weekend, Harry was sitting in the passenger seat of Louis’ Kia, nervously playing with his fingers. “Haz,” Louis leveled for the fourth time. They’d been on the road for two hours and still had an hour and some-odd to go. 

“Sorry,” Harry replied, pulling his hands apart and shoving them under his thighs as he looked out the window. A few seconds later, he felt Louis’ hand on his wrist, tugging the hand closest to him back out from under him, lacing their fingers together before kissing Harry’s knuckles.

“What can I do to help you calm down?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, ignoring the way his pulse jumps at the very obvious lie. 

“Hazza, baby, please calm down. I know you don’t believe me but my mum will love you just as much as I do. And the girls will be smitten with your curls just like I was. And tonight, I’ll blow you in my childhood bedroom while you stare at the poster of Becks on my ceiling,” Louis said.

An unintended laugh burst from Harry’s mouth in a sound he’d never heard himself make before. “D’you know what I said the first time I told my mom about you?” Harry didn’t answer, already perfectly aware that no matter what the answer was, it would make him turn an embarrassing shade of red. “I said, ‘I met a boy at a bakery today. I think I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with him.'” 

“You did not!” Harry replied, laughing. Louis finally smiled, looking over at Harry and joining in on his laughter.

“No, I didn’t,” he conceded. “But after our first date I did tell her you already had hold of my heart.” He was serious this time, Harry knew. 

Harry was quiet for some time, thinking about that. Back when Harry saw Louis through the window and had nearly talked himself out of going inside, Louis was already falling for him. Before he ever wore his sparkly heels and bright blouses, before he’d thrown up two feet from Louis after making a fool out of himself in front of his friends, before he’d relentlessly and unfairly tested the things Nick didn’t like against the things Louis didn’t mind time and time again. He’d started falling before all of that, and even after all of that, he still looked at Harry like Harry personally put the stars in the sky for Louis to find each night. 

“Painting my nails,” Harry said suddenly. “Calms me down, that is.” 

Louis thumbed across Harry’s knuckles, bringing them up to his lips to press a kiss into them again. “Want me to stop at a chemist’s shop so we can get you a bottle?” 

“No,” Harry said. “Don’t fancy meeting your parents looking camper than I already do.” 

“Shut up,” Louis said a bit harsher than necessary. “There’s nothing wrong with being flamboyant and my mum wouldn’t care. She’s not like that, Hazza. As long as you make me happy and you’re not like… murdering people in your spare time, she’s happy.” 

“Still,” Harry said. “Thank you for accepting me, but maybe another time?” 

Louis huffed, but accepted his answer. “Fine, but when we get back home, I’m painting your nails in fucking rainbow colors, if that’s what you want.” 

“Yes, babe,” Harry replied, looking back out his window and forcing his wide grin down by biting his lip. He was so in love with his boy. 

 

“Lou!” chorused the small voices of four little girls, followed by the “Achoo!” of two toddlers. 

Harry smiled despite his growing nervousness as six bodies collided with Louis’, all claiming a piece of him, the toddlers wriggling between the legs of the older children to cling to Louis’ knees. 

“Alright, alright, I missed you lot, too. Let a man breathe!” 

“Heard you haven’t been doing much of that lately, actually,” a girl with pink hair - Lottie, Harry’s mind supplied - replied with a smirk. “Been too busy shoving your tongue down a fit boy’s throat mum said.”

“Charlotte Tomlinson, I said no such thing!” a woman who could only be their mother said as she rounded the corner, drying her hands on a tea towel.

Lottie paled and Harry laughed despite himself, drawing the curious eyes of everyone in the room. He chose to focus on Louis’ bright smile instead. “This is my boyfriend, Harry,” Louis introduced. “Harry, that brat is Lottie -” 

“Hey!”

“Fiz is the quiet one just there -” she waved in Harry’s direction shyly and Harry smiled in return. “Those two are Daisy and Phoebe, and you’ll never be able to tell them apart so you might as well just not call them by name -”

“I’m Daisy,” one said, offended.

“And I’m Phoebe,” the other replied.

“And Louis knows that,” they chorused creepily. 

“Yes, you’re The Shining, we know,” Louis interrupted. “This is my favorite sister, Doris,” he said, kneeling to wrap one arm around each toddler’s waist. They giggled as he stood. “And my favorite brother, Ernie.” 

“He’s your only brother, Lou,” Harry replied.

“And therefore my favorite,” Louis quipped, not even sparing Harry a glance. 

“And I’m chopped liver,” Louis’ mum said from behind the crowd. They were all still standing by the door. 

Louis placed the youngest twins back on the ground, walking forward to wrap his arms around his mother. “And this is my lovely mother, Johannah Deakin.” 

“Ms. Deakin,” Harry acknowledged with a nod of his head. Louis pulled away from his mother and burst out laughing. 

“Get here, poppet,” Johannah said, stretching her arms back out for Harry. He stumbled awkwardly around the toddlers to return the hug, crouching a bit. “Please call me Jay, love.” 

“Jay,” Harry repeated and he could hear Louis in his head. _What are you, Haz? A parrot?_

As it turned out, Louis was right. As always. The Tomlinson-Deakin clan adored him. He’d helped Jay with dinner, laughing along to all of the many stories she shared of Louis when he was younger, the latter sitting on the counter and swinging his legs back and forth while protesting occasionally. He tugged Harry forward once or twice, pulling him into the space between his legs and planting a chaste kiss on his lips - right there in the open, right in front of his mother, who just smiled every time. 

When Jay needed something from the store, he piled into the back of the family car, Lottie behind the wheel and Fizzy in the passenger seat, grilling him with questions about Louis. It was evident to Harry how much they missed him, despite acting like he was the bane of their existence. 

“I like how yourself you are,” Fizzy complimented later, when Lottie had run off to the loo and the two of them were left to fend for themselves in the dairy aisle. “It’s inspiring. It makes me want to be more myself, if that makes sense.” 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Harry asked, and the younger girl nodded. “I wasn’t always this comfortable with myself. It took a long time. I let people tell me who I should be and I rearranged myself until I was perfect in their eyes and I was so, so miserable. I’m more myself now, but I’m still working on the insecurities. Your brother helps a ton, reminds me to love myself and that who I am is okay and it’s important to have that support. I bet if you talked to him, or your mum even, it would help out a lot.” 

Fizzy didn’t answer, but she nodded again, eyes darting over to make him aware of Lottie’s approach. Harry could understand. Both girls were beautiful, but Lottie was more outgoing about it, more like Louis and Fizzy was very similar to Harry - more quiet and reserved with her beauty. Neither was better than the other and both were very beautiful in their own ways - but he could see where a teenage girl might not think so. Harry made a mental note to slip Fiz his number just in case she ever needed someone to talk to. 

When Louis went out back to kick his old football around, Harry stayed in with the eldest set of twins. He wasn’t particularly coordinated and hadn’t brought any trainers anyway. Louis found him an hour later with multi-colored barrettes in his hair, nail polish on his fingers and bright blue eyeshadow mixed with a bold red lip. Louis smiled and snapped a picture before berating the girls for taking advantage of Harry’s kindness. “It’s alright, Lou,” Harry insisted. “Really.” 

And then later that night, at Louis’ insistence, Jay and Dan went out for a date night, leaving Harry and Louis to look after the youngest twins, playing with them, bathing them and putting them to bed. 

“Do you want kids, Haz?” Louis asked after the first hour.

Harry looked up from where he was playing with Doris and her dolls and smiled. “Yeah,” he whispered. “You?”

“A hundred percent,” Louis replied with an eye-creasing smile.

All-in-all, when it was time to go, Harry was just as sad as Louis was. And Louis was proper sad. He tried to hide it, tried to clear his throat, but Harry could tell he was a few minutes from tears as he hugged his siblings one by one, promising to visit again soon and ‘yes, I'll bring Harry. Jeez, I’m getting jealous here, think you might love him more than your own brother!’ 

Harry laughed, reaching for Jay to hug her goodbye. “It was nice to meet you, darling,” she said, holding him close. “Take care of my boy for me. Keep feeding him those pastries.” 

 

Harry didn’t count their dates anymore. Mostly because while he’d initially counted Louis coming over to his flat to watch Gogglebox and eat takeout as a date, it was a daily occurrence now. Kinda because Harry didn’t feel like he was counting down anymore, like he was lucky to get each date, like Louis would leave him if Harry said the wrong thing, wore the wrong thing. And a little bit because he lost count. They were probably in the 20s or 30s by now, for sure. 

Tonight, Harry was taking Louis to a proper posh restaurant in the fancy part of London and he was dressing up to the nines and had advised Louis to do the same. He was renting an Addison Lee and picking Louis up from his dorm housing at seven and was ready to drop a fair amount of money on the night. He wanted to dote on Louis, to show him how grateful he was to him for his patience and commitment. 

So he dressed himself in a pink button down and all-black suit, saving the glittery heels for another night and sliding on his not-so-new-anymore-but-still-very-shiny black ones. He slid his rings on his fingers - some from before, a few Louis bought him once he figured out what a fan of jewelry Harry was and thumbed over the fresh black paint on his index finger nail - another pro manicure done by the one and only Louis Tomlinson. 

“ _Ready?_ ” Harry texted his boyfriend, shutting off the lights in his flat as he made his way to the front door, double and triple checking that his wallet was in his pocket. 

“ _Come here, lover boy_ ,” Louis replied and Harry smiled so big he was afraid his jaw may fall off. 

Although Louis beat him to the punch by being outside when Harry pulled up, Harry rushed to get out of the car, determined to at least open the car door for Louis. Louis rolled his eyes fondly, but thanked Harry just the same as he slid past. Harry grabbed his wrist before he could enter the car and pulled him closer. “You look gorgeous, darling,” he said, reminiscent of their first date. 

“And you look like I’d much rather spend my night on my knees for you, but I’m trying to be good,” Louis replied with a smirk and a wink, slipping into the passenger seat. If Harry surreptitiously adjusted himself as he walked around the boot of the car, it was no one’s business. 

The restaurant was just as posh as Harry had hoped, Louis looking around in awe as he was lead towards the table by the host. Harry walked ahead of his boyfriend, pulling his chair out for him and directing him to sit. “Pulling out all the stops, I see.”

“Trying to woo you,” Harry replied as he sat, picking up his menu. The prices were ridiculously outrageous, but he’d saved for the past few months to be able to take Louis here. It was the least he deserved. The waitress approached a few minutes later, taking their drink and food orders and heading to the back. Louis put on of his hands on the table, stretching his arm across between the annoyingly placed candlestick and the vase holding a single rose. He wiggled his fingers and Harry complied, threading his fingers between Louis’ and smiling. 

“Thank you for all of this,” Louis said. “I shudder to think what it’s costing you.” 

“I’d give up everything if you asked me to, a couple of notes isn’t a big deal,” Harry replied. 

“Ooh, my boy has the lines!” The waitress came back with their drinks - a Cosmo for Harry and a Sex on the Beach for Louis - and the boys pulled apart to allow her more room. She smiled at them, letting them know their food would be up shortly. Harry was just about to ask Louis if he could try a bit of his mash when his name was screamed, causing the younger boy to startle. 

He looked around trying to find the source of the yell when it collided into him. He smiled, wrapping his arms around what he could reach of the girl. “Rita,” Harry acknowledged as she pulled away. The patrons around them were glaring at her. “You’ve gained quite a bit of attention.” 

“Do everywhere though, don’t I?” the girl retorted, pulling away. 

Harry laughed. “What’re you doing here?” 

“In town for the fashion show tomorrow night. You going?”

Harry wriggled his feet uncomfortably. “Nah,” he said. “Not really my scene anymore. Um, Rita, this is my boyfriend, Louis,” he introduced, gesturing to him.

Louis stood, proper gentleman, and reached out his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Rita, was it?” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Lou’s a proper fan of yours.” 

Louis laughed, putting his hands up in front of his chest. “Busted.” His accent made it sound like he said “boosted,” causing Harry to smile. 

"Harry, I should tell you -," Rita started, but she was interrupted. 

“What do we have? Little Harry Styles?” That voice sent chills down Harry’s spine. That voice had haunted him from the moment he left Leicester almost two years ago, voicemails from the night Nick realized Harry wasn’t coming back still saved on his phone. Harry caught Louis’ eye and the older boy became immediately defensive. 

“Nick,” he replied politely, standing up. He watched as his ex-boyfriend’s eyes flitted up and down his body, surely taking in the sight of the pink shirt, the rings, the nail polish and the boots. His lip curled a bit before he could help it. 

“Long time, no see,” Nick said. “In fact, I think the last time I saw you, you were living in my flat. Came home with some pizza and you were gone.” 

Harry looked away, down to his boots. He’d built himself up so far in the past two years and just having Nick in his presence, looking at him the same, speaking to him as if he were nothing made him feel like the small 19 year old curled up on the living room floor, sobbing into the phone for his mum again. 

“Listen, mate, you’ve got about ten seconds to get the fuck out of here,” Louis said quietly.

“Lou, it’s alright,” Harry replied, looking around at the attention they were gaining. 

“Who’s this then?” Nick asked, the teasing smile evident on his face now. “Got yourself a guard dog? Probably would’ve went with a more Rottweiler type as opposed to a chihuahua, but then again, you’ve always fancied yourself a damsel.” 

“Alright, dickhead, I tried to be civil,” Louis started, stopped only by Rita grabbing onto Nick’s arm. 

“Nick, c’mon. Let’s go back to our seats. Harry has a guest. Maybe you can catch up later,” she suggested.

“Fat chance, that,” Louis scoffed. 

Nick laughed. “Enjoy your heart attack in a glass, Harold. Hope it doesn’t go to your waist.” 

Before what he said could rest on Harry, he’d left, Rita in tow and Harry slumped down into his chair. Louis slowly followed, eyes on Harry the entire time. The waitress came and went, putting their plates down in front of them and Harry ate mechanically, not bothering to make conversation with Louis. The date had already gone to Hell anyway and the sooner they got out of here, the sooner Louis could go home and send his breakup text. 

He didn’t notice tears in his eyes until one fell to the table, making a dark circle on the tablecloth and drawing Louis’ words. “Hazza, do you want to leave?” he asked. 

Harry shook his head, cleared his throat and said, “No, but you can go if you want. I’ll pay the bill.” He refused to look Louis in the eye. 

“What are you on about? I’m not going anywhere,” Louis replied. “C’mon, love, the dinner was incredible, but let’s go. You’re not even tasting your food.” 

Harry couldn’t argue with that, pulling out his wallet and throwing some notes onto the table. Louis reached for his hand, holding it tightly as they walked past Nick Grimshaw’s table and out the front door. They made it to the car Harry rented before he finally cracked. Louis was there, standing on his tiptoes and wrapping his arms around Harry’s shaking body. “Come on, love, in the car. We’ll go home and you can let it all out.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized later that night in the bathtub. Louis had started the water as soon as they got home, dropping one of Harry’s bath bombs inside and lighting some candles. He’d undressed them both and got into the tub, gesturing for Harry to get in behind him. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, darling,” Louis replied, holding Harry’s hand where it rested just below the waterline on Louis’ stomach. “Your ex-boyfriend’s a dick and he showed his arse at dinner. It happens.” 

“I didn’t know he was in London. I didn’t know he’d be at that restaurant,” Harry explained. “I promise I didn’t know or I would’ve told you, wouldn’t have gone there.”

“I know, H. I saw your face when you heard his voice.” He was silent for a few minutes, absentmindedly playing with Harry’s fingers. “Can we talk a little more about him?”

Harry stiffened, the question hitting him the same as it had all those months ago on his sofa. “What about him?” he replied again. 

“Did he ever hurt you? Physically?” Louis asked meekly, and Harry was happy they weren’t face to face for this conversation.

“Once. The night I left him.” 

“Have you spoken to him since?” 

“Not before tonight, no,” Harry said, aware that Louis’ underlying question was most likely ‘have you spoken to him since we got together.’

“Did you love him?” Louis finally asked. 

Harry sighed deeply, the movement jostling Louis. “Yes, at the time. I was 17 when we met and he’s a fair bit older than me. Nine years, so he was 26. I was in love with him, his lifestyle, his friends. He wasn’t always bad to me. At the beginning he was sweet, taking me to all these shows and dinners and it was always ‘this is my lovely boyfriend, Harry.’ I was absolutely smitten by the time the small digs started. Just lightly, at first. Just ‘you shouldn’t eat that, love, it’ll go to your waist’ and ‘not sure those shoes look the best on you.’ Eventually, as you know, it got worse. But I told myself I was lucky to have him, lucky to lead the life he had me leading, lucky someone loved someone as unlovable as me. I downplayed everything he did like ‘maybe he calls you fat, but honestly you could stand to lose some weight’ and ‘yes, he calls you names, but he doesn’t hit you.’ Of course, when he did, I didn’t have that as an excuse anymore. He left immediately afterwards to go out to a party and I called mum to come pick me up.” 

Louis waited until he was finished before turning, sloshing water over the sides of the tub. His cheeks were wet when he buried his face in Harry’s neck, clinging to him. “You’re so lovable, Harry Styles. I love you so much,” he whispered. 

Harry hugged him back. “I know that now, Lou. You helped me remember.” 

 

Anne was a lot less calm about meeting Louis than Jay had been when meeting Harry. She was tearing up from the moment they opened the door, throwing her arms around Harry first, before dragging Louis in too. “My boys!” she cooed as if she’d known Louis his entire life. 

“Is that Hazz head?” Gemma said from behind him and Harry chuckled, unwrapping one arm from around his mother to beckon his sister into the hug. “No, thanks,” she said. 

“Have you eaten?” Anne asked, pulling away from the boys. 

“Not yet,” Harry said. 

His mum looked physically pained at the idea of him going hungry. “Lunch then!” she exclaimed, dragging them into the kitchen. “What would you like?” 

“Cheese toastie?” Harry asked, smiling over at Louis reminiscent of that early morning in his flat. 

Anne nodded. “And you, Louis?” 

“A cheese toastie is fine for me too, thank you, Ms. Twist,” Louis replied kindly. 

Harry snorted. “And you made fun of me! Mum tell him to call you Anne.” 

“He can call me mum for all I care after seeing this smile on your face again,” she replied, causing Harry to be the one to blush instead of Louis. Louis laughed boisterously. 

“Anne good for now? Just so we don’t give Haz a heart attack?”

She smiled. “Anne’s perfect, darling.” 

 

Louis meeting Harry’s family came with the unfortunate side effect of he and Gemma ganging up on Harry at every available opportunity. “...the worst, I know,” Harry caught Louis saying as he walked into the kitchen to drop his and his mother’s plates into the sink. They’d just finished dinner, full of Harry and Louis’ small game of footsie below the table. 

“Are you making fun of me again?” Harry asked with faux exasperation. 

“Not making fun, love,” Louis said, pushing himself off the table to step into Harry’s embrace. “Simply admiring your more humorous qualities.” 

“Slick, Tomlinson,” Harry replied with a smile and a purse of his lips. Louis stood on his toes, meeting Harry halfway. 

“Disgusting,” Gemma said behind them. He listed to the swish of her jeans as she left the room and hummed into the kiss. They kept it chaste, still aware they were in the kitchen of Harry’s parents’ house, pulling away after a few moments. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered, leaning down so Louis didn’t have to stand on his toes anymore and pressing his forehead against the other boy’s. 

“I love you,” Louis replied simply. 

Another chaste kiss was interrupted by a cleared throat. They broke apart to find Anne standing at the doorway. “Harry dear, will you finish clearing the table, please?” she asked with a smile, very unsubtly. The table had been cleared when he'd brought the last two plates into the kitchen. 

Harry groaned, but pulled away, one final kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Good luck,” he whispered, leaving the room and climbing the stairs to Gemma’s old room. He knocked lightly in the old pattern they used to use when he was sneaking biscuits into her room. 

“Come in,” she called and he found her lying diagonally across her bed, phone in hand. She looked away from the screen long enough to smile at him. “Goodnight, babe,” she said to the screen, blowing a kiss at it. 

Harry resisted the urge to take the piss out of her, remembering a few weeks prior when Louis was sick and insisted they stay apart until he was better and Facetime was their only way of seeing one another. (This lasted three nights.) She hangs up, throwing the phone down on the bed and pulling herself into a seated position, criss cross, patting the bed in front of her.

“Who’s that then?” Harry asked as he ambled over. 

“A friend, for now,” Gemma replied with the nonchalance serenity that Harry always associated with witches (the woodsy ones that played with crystals, not the green faced ones of fairy tales.) 

Harry smiles, lying down on the bed with his head in her lap like he’d done since he was young. She played with his curls and even though his eyes were closed, he knew she was smiling. “You two are very cute, you know,” she said. 

Harry hummed. “I know,” he replied simply, causing her to laugh.

She was silent for a bit, and Harry knew she was amping up to say whatever she’d been trying to say to him all night, knowing gazes at the dinner table and quirked lips when Louis said something particular. “It’s good to see you happy again, Hazz head,” she finally said. “That Grimshaw arsehole well and proper broke you and it’s nice to see you flouncing around in your pretty blouses and painted nails again. Are you growing out your hair?” 

“Trying to,” Harry said. “It’s in a bit of an ugly phase at the moment. Kinda look like teenage Simba from The Lion King.” 

Gemma laughed. “That you do,” she said. “But if it helps any, Louis still looks at you like you’re the best person in the world. I checked his tea for a love potion at lunch.” 

Harry laughed. “Didn’t have to drug him, Gems, he’s just crazy enough to love me.”

“Lucky enough, more like,” said a voice from the doorway. Harry smiled, but didn’t attempt to move from his sister’s lap. He was very comfortable. 

“Great, you’re here. Maybe you can get this clingy cat off me,” Gemma said, shifting below him. 

He whined in protest, causing Louis to laugh. “He is quite cat-like isn’t he?” 

“God, he always has been, it’s ridiculous. Come get your boy, Tomlinson. I’m about to turn in for the night.”

“What did mum want?” Harry remembers to ask later. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Louis asks, turning down the duvet on the full-sized bed they’d be sharing tonight. 

“Yes,” Harry replied. “That’s why I asked.”

Louis laughed like Harry was the funniest person he’d ever listed to. Harry loved that laugh so much, all crinkle-eyes and thrown back head. He thinks the first time he heard it was the very moment he started falling. 

“She was giving me the mom talk, essentially,” he said. “And that’s all you’re gonna get out of me. C’mon, Hazza, bed. I’m tired and I need a cuddle.” 

 

Anne repeats Gemma’s sentiments when he says goodbye the next day, all misty eyes and tight hugs. “I’ve missed you so much, son.”

“I’ll be back in a month, mum,” Harry replied.

“No, baby,” she said pulling away. “I’ve missed _you_. You’re _you_ again and I’m happy you found someone who feeds your fire instead of stomping it out.” 

Those words stayed with him for the rest of the car ride home, and a few days afterwards. His life with Louis isn't always perfect. They fight from time to time about tiny things like Louis leaving a pile of laundry by the bedroom door and not washing the dishes every once in a while until they realize that _hey, when did Louis move into Harry’s flat?_ and share a laugh, a bottle of wine and a ton of kisses to make-up for the arguments. 

But through it all, Harry found someone who’s always supported him at every turn. Who grew out his hair to Teenage-Simba lengths when Harry was feeling uncomfortable about how his looked and promised to only cut it once Harry was confident in his own length again. Who painted his nails at least twice a week as they talked about their respective days and got ready for bed. Who still came into the bakery, maybe not every day anymore, but enough that Perrie would roll her eyes and disappear to the back when he showed up. 

Harry found someone who only ever said nice things about him, who never made fun of his hair or his nails or his style or his personality. He found someone who treated Harry’s family like his own and encouraged Harry to go out with his friends every once in awhile for some one-on-one time with them. Someone who held him at night when old insecurities creeped their way back in or an errant Nick-related thought forced its way into his brain. 

At the end of the day, he loved Louis more than he ever thought was possible to love someone and he was so very grateful the boy had walked into his quaint little bakery to seek cheap, immediate comfort for his aching stomach. Somewhere along the way, he’d also quelled Harry’s aching heart.

**Author's Note:**

> that's that, folks! if you're feeling kind, please leave a comment and some kudos! If you're REALLY feeling kind, follow me on tumblr at [wreckedboyfriends](http://wreckedboyfriends.tumblr.com) and reblog the fic post [here](http://wreckedboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/177008611224/on-a-wednesday-in-a-cafe-by-wreckedboyfriends).


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